


Gold Rush

by TristenCrone



Category: Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Bob Seger Songs Because Clyde Is A Fanboy, Breeding Kink, Classic Cars, Classic Rock, Clyde Logan Needs a Hug, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Illegal Activities, Loneliness, Masturbation, On the Run, POV Clyde Logan, Penis In Vagina Sex, Possessive Sex, Protective Clyde Logan, Secrets, So many tropes, Tropes, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Sex, Walk Into A Bar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:02:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29929011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TristenCrone/pseuds/TristenCrone
Summary: "She walked into the Duck Tape like hell itself was behind her and she didn’t care that her shoes were on fire. Clyde had never seen anything like her, at least not in Danville. He would have remembered."Clyde Logan is lonely, discontent with living the same life day in, and day out. It's not until a stranger comes into the bar and knocks him off his feet that he even realizes just how much he's been missing.Jovie has secrets of her own, mistakes piling up behind her, determined to drive until she runs out of road. Clyde Logan is not on her list of plans, but something about him ignites a part of her long-forgotten.
Relationships: Clyde Logan/Original Female Character(s), Joe Bang/Mellie Logan, Sylvia Harrison/Jimmy Logan
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go out to my lovely betas: @Love_andbalance and @LexiRayne2187 for all the time and effort they put in, brainstorming and fixing my late-night mess of words. I appreciate you!
> 
> So, this is my first attempt at something other than Reylo. It's also my first attempt at something more explicit, with more smut. Hopefully I did Clyde justice and the OC is interesting!
> 
> Please let me know in the comments what you think!

Chapter 1

She walked into the Duck Tape like hell itself was behind her and she didn’t care that her shoes were on fire. Clyde had never seen anything like her, at least not in Danville. He would have remembered.

It was a slow Tuesday, middle of the pay period, no one but the few regulars around to piss away their money and drown their sorrows. Clyde took care of them all. He listened to them bitch about their loneliness, and hung confiscated car keys on the rack behind the bar, and wiped the bartop in between rounds of drinks that sloshed out of their glasses.

This was his domain, and she burst into it like a stray Fourth-Of-July firework, upending his routine for the night. She looked like trouble, and the youngest Logan brother had already dealt with his fair share.

Muscular legs were the first thing he noticed, taut and tanned, not overly long but the way she strutted ate up the distance between the front door and the jukebox. Loretta was rudely interrupted to make way for Ram Jam, and the pulsing beat cut through the despair of another dead night at the bar.

Clyde found himself strangely mad, pissed that some stranger walked in like she owned the place and didn’t even bother buying a drink before she fucked with his vibe. The cuff of his prosthesis cut into his forearm uncomfortably, it had been a while since he’d made the drive into Charleston for a fitting… or rather had Mellie drive him in, since his license was still suspended.

She’d been busy, what with the salon and Joe Bang occupying most of her time. He’d had to use some of his mattress-money for a down payment on his own place, Mellie’s just wasn’t peaceful anymore. Seven acres of peace and privacy were waiting for him now, and he kept looking up at the clock begging the hands to move so he could leave.

He’d felt restless since that FBI lady had come into town, she’d tried to sweet talk him into letting it slip, and he almost had, but his years of paranoia and studying the patterns of the curse had paid off. Nobody that pretty, with that much knowledge on superstition could have been for real. Still, part of him wished he’d closed the deal with her. It had been six months since she came and went, and even longer still since he’d enjoyed the company of a lady.

So, his hackles were raised. So what?

He didn’t need no more trouble, especially not on a fucking long Tuesday where his body ached and he questioned what he was doing here. Slow days were the worst. Clyde had far too much time at hand, time to consider all those places he’d read about in his books, and the fact that life moved on around him… without him.

She waited for the guitars and drums to fade, dropping a few more quarters into the machine to play “Barracuda”.

Real subtle.

Bobby didn’t like the turn the music had taken, he downed his Pilsner and slammed the glass back down onto the table, tossing a tip onto the table before he left. He gave Clyde a familiar nod, one that meant “I’ll come get my car in the morning” and the door banged shut behind him.

She stalked toward the bar, those tanned legs flexing as she walked, disappearing under a denim skirt. Her t-shirt was tattered, distressed in a way that he assumed was purposeful, slashes across the chest bisecting the tongue he recognized as a Stones logo.

“What can I get you?” he asked, palms pressed against the bar as he leaned forward to shout over the music.

“Surprise me!” She yelled, voice husky, and the sound of it brought a certain drink to mind. Bourbon and honey.

Clyde worked on the drink, pouring each element into the shaker, going at it a bit more aggressively than was necessary. He poured the chilled amber liquid into a martini glass, pushing the base toward her.

“Gold Rush,” was all he said, turning his back to clear Bobby’s table, collecting the folded green bills into his breast pocket.

Just another half an hour and he could close up for the night. Most of the other regulars had slunk home, the room almost completely empty except for him and the brunette at the bar.

He tried not to think about the way she’d looked up at him, her brown eyes twinkling with something other than just enjoying the music. She’d draped herself against the bar, looking outwards, elbows on the wood behind her. Clyde could almost feel her gaze.

 _Not tonight_ he almost begged. He was in an ornery mood, and had been for days now. On a good day the prospect of a one-night stand, or even a drunken fumble would have excited him, but Jimmy had moved over the state-line for good. Mellie and Joe were a done deal, some of the bar patrons had already started up a pool on when they’d get hitched.

Clyde was lonely, he yearned. Not just for a warm body passing through Danville and taking what they needed like a thief in the night. He wanted more. He wanted all of it. "Trouble" back there didn’t seem like the type.

This time when the song stopped she left it, the room falling into an eerie silence, just the two of them and the clink of glassware as he cleaned up. He heard her get up from the bar, the scrape of the stool against the floor too loud and close.

“How much do I owe you?” she asked, that Gold Rush voice of hers doing something strange to his insides, a dangerous curl in the base of his abdomen. His mind may not have wanted her, but his body’d been waiting far too long.

“Nothing, on the house,” he grumbled from the other side of the bar, counting out the drawer. The muscles in his back so tight it felt like they were poised to snap.

“What’s your name, soldier?” she asked, clearly not content to just leave him be.

He turned toward her in surprise, wondering how she knew. His confusion must have shown because she gave a throaty chuckle and pointed at a spot on the inside of her forearm that corresponded with where his tattoo sat etched on his exposed arm, his rolled-up sleeves bunched around his biceps.

“Logan, Clyde Logan, ma’am,” he responded, daring another once-over before she left.

She shook her head at him, her lush lips pulled up into a smile. They glistened with some sort of balm, or maybe just the remnants of the cocktail, and he wondered if she’d taste like honey.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Logan,” she offered, pulling some money out of the pocket on her skirt and placing it carefully onto the wooden bartop. She patted the notes twice and then turned to leave without another word.

Clyde tried and failed to be satisfied with that. His question left his lips before he had the mind to shut up.

“What’s your name?” he shouted after her, the sound ricocheting across the wooden floor.

She stopped, hand still holding onto the door, half in… half out.

“Jovie,” She said, shooting him one more smile, the cool air from outside rushing into the bar and clearing his head.

 _Jesus H. Christ_ … what had come over him? _Pull yourself together. So, she looks good because she’s a stranger that doesn’t look at you with pity or disdain. She doesn’t know you’re just a dumb Logan. So what?_

The thoughts came up bitter and Clyde knew it was time to head home, before the Cuervo started calling his name. Experience and the backache that came with it, told him that the bar floor was no place to spend the night.

He settled behind the wheel of his dinged-up Cadillac, shifting it into gear and rumbling down the blacktop toward home. Clyde turned onto the dirt road a mile or so from the bar, gravel kicking up against the undercarriage of the car.

 _Just gotta get home. Get home and go to sleep and it’ll be alright tomorrow_. The promise sounded empty, even in his mind, but it was all he had going for him.

He’d see Jimmy and Sadie this weekend, they’d go tubing on the river and he’d get one of the others to watch the bar during the day. He needed a break, a breather from the routine he found himself in.

The slate grey house blended into the darkness behind it, he climbed the stairs to the front door, the lock clicking when he turned the key. Clyde kicked off his boots, ran a finger through his long black hair, and heaved a sigh so heavy it hurt.

She wouldn’t leave his mind.

The house was still sparsely furnished. The pullout doubled as his sofa; the television was mounted above a fireplace he had yet to use. He had no dining room furniture to speak of, and when he climbed the stairs to his bedroom, he ignored the bare walls. Imprints of where other photos had been still stained the wallpaper he needed to replace.

But his bed was on a frame, not just a box spring or a mattress on the floor. He’d made sure of that. He’d even made the damn thing this morning, even though it was a shitshow trying to do it alone, and one-handed to boot.

He shucked his jeans, pulled the sweaty t-shirt from his body and felt goosebumps rise on his skin. Cool spring air whispered through the curtains of the window he’d left open. The screen kept everything out, even though it was a little early to worry about that, with summer weeks away. He pulled the prosthesis from his arm, setting it beside the bed and massaging the irritated skin.

Clyde sunk down onto the mattress, feeling the day melt from his body. It was harder to still his mind.

Jovie lingered like a bad hangover. The curves of those legs did mean things to his mind and he felt like he would drown in the images that flashed behind his closed eyes. The mixture of want and loneliness cut a little too close, his boxer briefs straining in response to the teasing of his imagination.

Strong legs wrapped around his waist, his hand snaking up under that fucking skirt… Clyde wanted to taste her skin, hear the husky moans from her throat as he kissed her there.

His hand pushed the waistband of his underwear down, stretching over massive thighs, but he didn’t have the patience to take them off completely. He fisted his cock in his hand, pumping before he could think better of it.

She was there in his mind, writhing against him, his name on her lips and her body his for the taking. Those legs of hers straddling his hips as she sunk down onto him, his hand splayed across her waist as she rode him. She’d want music, he was almost sure of it, something with a pulsing beat and electric guitars.

The friction felt hot and slightly irritating, but the need was too strong. There was no time for anything but his desperate stroking, sweat beading on his forehead, teeth bared as he came in spurts. Cum coated his stomach, the liquid cooling on his skin and he shuddered at the sensation.

The heaviness of his breathing sounded too loud in the room; his chest tight with something more than just exertion.

 _For fuck’s sake_ … he thought, annoyed all over again, unable to sink into blissful sleep.

He hated this. He hated the loneliness of two AM on a fucking Tuesday night, hated how he could feel sad even as his dick throbbed once, twice, satisfied. He had to get his mind right.

Clyde stared up at the popcorn ceilings that he intended to replace someday, lost in everything he missed from the “somedays” in his mind.

Someday he’d have a wife, kids running around, driving him crazy. Someday this house would be a home, a real one.

The curse teased him, telling him that he’d never have those somedays. It hadn’t worked out for his daddy; his momma had died far too soon. It hadn’t worked out for Jimmy, though Sadie was a blessing that came out of that mess.

Why should it work out for him?

 _Shut up and go to sleep_ , he thought to himself, the anger from earlier back with a vengeance.

Clyde was sick of the routine, sick of himself. Something had to change, but could he risk it? Making a choice meant he could lose whatever he went for, but not choosing at all… well that meant more of the same.

Would he be happy with seeing Jimmy and Sadie on the weekends, watching Joe and Mellie attack each other’s faces and sneak off minutes later? Could he be the happy uncle the rest of his life? It wasn’t a bad life, but it wasn’t all it might be if he tried.

Maybe he would try tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks go out again to my lovely betas @Love_andbalance and @LexiRayne2187 for all the help and support! Please go check out their works as well, they are both fantastic writers!

#  Chapter 2

Jovie sat in her Wildcat, watching the lights flicker off inside the bar, the outline of Clyde Logan’s broad frame enough to leave her parched and wishing for another drink. She’d been impressed by his mixology skills, even more so because they were in the middle of nowhere West Virginia.

_ And whose fault is it that you’re here in the first place? _ Her mind snarked, losing the brief escape she’d found in the bar and reverting back to her earlier pissy mood.

He’d seemed put out by her little party, she couldn’t blame him, it had been impulsive… a mistake probably.

She was supposed to be blending in, not two steps away from a Coyote Ugly routine on the bar. Jovie’d felt like celebrating, or blowing off steam, or just feeling something at all. Two thousand miles sat between her and everything she’d left behind, surely a drink couldn’t hurt after all that driving.

Reason dictated that she should pack up, drive through the night to the next rest stop, keep going until she ran out of road… Too bad she wasn’t feeling especially reasonable right now. Jovie itched to run, but she was tired, and Danville seemed like just the right brand of sleepy for a real pitstop.

Clyde’s car left the lot, purring loudly in the quiet night, everyone else safe and sound in their beds. Jovie thought about that rough voice, gravelly as if he didn’t use it too often, calling out for her name. She considered giving him a fake one but those brown eyes had seemed so sincere. So, she made the second mistake of the night and told the truth.

Well, it seemed about time for her to make her third mistake, she was nothing if not consistent… She pulled out of the parking lot, back onto 85 into Madison and toward the hotel she’d seen on the map, a stone of something she couldn’t name tight in her chest.

_ You’re low on cash. You should sleep in the car and leave before you fuck it up even further. _ The anxious voice in her mind tried to urge her back onto the highway, back onto the plan.

She was tired of sleeping in the car. Jovie was down to her second-last pair of clean underwear, forced to wear clothes she hadn’t dared in years. The outfit was part of the reason she stopped at the bar in the first place; remnants of the girl who used to wear these clothes teased her into being daring.

It felt good.

She wanted more of it. Probably would have pushed all the way into the danger zone and gone home with Clyde if he’d asked. But he hadn’t.

Part of her was relieved, the other ached for what she didn’t have. It had been so long since someone had caught her eye like that. She wasn’t sure if it was the combination of adrenaline and fucking great music, or just the way the drink slid down her throat: burning and soothing all at the same time… but he intrigued her, in all his silent gloomy glory.

The hotel night desk was manned by a greasy-haired kid, barely old enough to have hair on his chin. He didn’t bother asking for a credit card, something she appreciated. One thing she’d learned from all this: small towns were far more open to cash payments.

Her stomach jumped in anticipation of being able to stretch out on a real bed. The Buick was big, but couldn’t compare to the comfort of a mattress and comforter. No gear stick digging into her ribs tonight, no arm rest causing a kink in her neck. So, she was down to her last couple hundred and the room ate into her meager budget, so what?

Jovie just needed one night to regroup, she’d earned the chance to breathe.

Maybe soon she’d get to go to a bar and let loose for real, breathe deep and lose herself completely… she clung to the thought as she slipped into her usual fitful sleep.

Morning came too soon, that drink from last night sour in her mouth, teeth furry and eyes dry from a restless night. But, she’d managed at least a few hours straight, which was more than she’d gotten in a while. Jovie would be fresh for the day ahead, she’d head over to the gas station, fill up, and grab whatever she could find to see her through breakfast and lunch.

She dropped her key at reception, a new face there barely lifting their head when she passed by. They seemed even more tired than she did, but then again it was midweek and barely eight AM. Out in the parking lot she rooted through her purse, and pulled the keys from the leather, settling into the car for the next stretch of tar.

Only, when she turned the key the engine gave a disappointing sputter before flat-out refusing to start.

_ No, not now. Please. _

The car had gotten her across the country, sturdy and old and, she’d thought, reliable. Then again, she had bought it off of a shady guy from Craigslist who wanted it sold ASAP.

She swallowed the sigh that threatened to overwhelm her, slamming the door when she got out of the car, stomping her way back into the hotel.

This time the receptionist looked up.

“Where’s the nearest mechanic?” Jovie asked.

The young lady at the front desk blinked once, twice, and finally seemed to realize that her assistance was required.

“Earl’s,” she said, popping some gum as she spoke, “He’s just up the road, corner of State and Madison. He’ll fix you right up, just tell him Lynn sent ya. But he don’t open for another hour or so. There’s a Go Mart right by the garage, if you’d like to get something to eat. Nothing else is open nearby,” Lynn gave Jovie a weak smile in sympathy.

“That’s okay, I’ll grab something from the Go Mart while I wait, thanks for your help,” Jovie said, leaving to trek up the road, stomach rumbling angrily at her.

It had been a while since she’d last eaten, drinking on an empty stomach last night had not been a good idea. She was just thirstier than she would have been otherwise, her mouth tasted disgusting, and the beginnings of a monster headache pressed against the inside of her eye sockets.

The Go Mart was right across the road from Earl’s, the elderly clerk eyeing her carefully as she gathered a few snacks for the morning. No point stocking up like she’d been planning, she needed all the money she could for whatever repairs the car needed.

Jovie settled on some Slim Jims, peanut butter crackers, a huge bottle of water, and a Snickers to take the edge off. She slid a twenty under the plastic partition toward the clerk, anxiety burning a hole in her stomach. Her change jingled when he handed it back to her, beady eyes far too focused on her for her liking.

The sooner she got out of dodge, the better.

Jovie sat out on the curb of the Go Mart, overlooking Earl’s garage, and ate the snacks to appease the gnawing of her stomach. It wasn’t great, it wasn’t nutritious, but it would have to do. There wasn’t time for luxury, and she forced her mind away from its daydreaming.  _ Forget about bacon, eggs, and a short stack. _

God, she missed good, greasy diner food.

A truck pulled up to the garage and a man she assumed was Earl got out, long hair tucked under a ball cap, brown overalls with the logo on the back. Jovie rose from her perch and crossed the road, barely looking both ways before she did.

The garage door had been rolled up, the metal noisily folding into a spiral above the opening. She heard the man muttering under his breath, unhappy with something or other.

“Hi, uh… are you open?” she ventured from the doorway.

Her question was met with more grumbling before he approached her.

“Yep, how can I help?” He asked.

“My car’s over at the hotel and it won’t start, Lynn sent me,” Jovie said.

“Which one is it? I can go over and take a look once Bobby gets here,” Earl said.

“Buick Wildcat, light brown with a black roof,” Jovie answered and Earl gave her a nod, disappearing back into the garage and sliding under one of the cars, clearly done with the discussion.

She fought the annoyance that came up, smarting along her windpipe.  _ He’s got other customers, people that got here before. Can’t expect him to drop everything just because I’m in a hurry. Could be worse, could have broken down on the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere. _

Not that Danville was exactly somewhere, but it was better than the alternative.

Bobby showed up a few minutes later, giving Jovie a questioning look, eyes narrowed as if he was trying to put something together in his mind. She recognized him from the bar and wondered if he realized that she’d been there last night. He’d seemed pretty out of it when he left, a slight stagger to the way he walked that led her to believe he’d been too drunk to drive.

“Hey, Earl!” Bobby called to his colleague under the car. His greeting was interrupted by a ringing coming from behind a door nearby.

“Bobby,” Earl responded, before reaching out for a wrench from the toolbox beside him.

“Tell Marianne to get the damn phone!” Earl muttered from the undercarriage, “I’m gonna need you to take over here in a minute, gotta take a look at a Buick at the hotel that won’t start up,” he continued.

“Uh Earl… Marianne ain’t coming in today,” Bobby muttered.

“What do you mean she ain’t coming in?” Earl’s voice rose and he bumped his forehead in his haste to get out from under the car. “Get the goddamn phone, will ya!” he gestured frustratedly at the office door.

Bobby rolled his eyes but went where he was told, Jovie caught a glimpse of a rudimentary office before the door shut behind him again.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Earl said, almost as if he’d forgotten she was there for a moment.

Jovie just shrugged and gave him a half smile.

Bobby emerged a moment later, shaking his head. “It was just Purple Lady asking about the upholstery job she wants done. I reminded her that we couldn’t do that and she’d have to reach out to someone in Charleston for that,” he said to Earl.

Earl just shook his head and raised an eyebrow at Bobby.

“Marianne?” he asked and Bobby’s expression turned thunderous.

“She packed up and went to her sister’s over in Kentucky. Said she wasn’t happy anymore, complained about everything from the color of our lampshades to the fifty I spent at the bar on the weekend. She had her bags packed when I got home from the garage last night. Didn’t even get a word in,” Bobby said, his expression somewhat broken and Jovie felt a little sorry for him.

No wonder he’d looked so unhappy at the bar last night.

Earl gave a sigh, patting Bobby on the shoulder.

“We’ll make do for now, you carry on here. I’ll be back in a minute, once I get missy here’s car looked at,” Earl said, gesturing toward where Jovie stood in the doorway.

He left without another word and she stood there awkwardly, not sure what to do with herself. Bobby disappeared under the car, tinkering where his boss had left off.

The phone started up again and she heard his expletive before it even reached the second ring. His hands were covered in grease, only the lower part of his shins and his work boots visible.

Jovie found herself volunteering to help before she could think better of it.

“I’ll get it, I’ll just take a note and tell them Earl will get back to them,” she offered and Bobby shouted a “thanks!” quicker than she expected.

She stood in the office, the receiver pressed to her ear and “Earl’s Auto,” coming out of her mouth, pencil poised and ready.

The call felt like a blur, the man on the other end of the line seemed to be asking about the status of his car. From his description she concluded that he must be talking about the car Bobby was laid under.

“They’re working on it right now, sir. If you tell me which number is the best to reach you at, I can give you a call as soon as it’s done,” Jovie said and jotted down the phone number and his name.

When she came out of the office Earl was back and watching her with a look she didn’t know what to make of.

“Bad news, missy. You need a new timing belt, the serpentine belt doesn’t look all that great either, but without a replacement for the timing belt you ain’t going nowhere,” Earl said and Jovie felt her stomach sink.

“How much?” She said, thinking of the two-fifty she had left in her purse.

“Six hundred,” he said and she sucked a breath between her teeth.

There was no way she could afford that.

“I don’t have six hundred,” she lamented aloud, before she could even think about it.

“Tell you what, you help us out here, answer the phone and take notes and whatnot for the next three days and we’ll consider you square. How does that sound?” Earl said.

Honestly, it was less than ideal. She couldn’t really afford to linger too long, and staying at the hotel was going to eat through what she had left pretty quickly. But what other choice did she have? She needed that car.

“Okay,” she said, nodding decisively, her lips pursed into a hard line. There was no other way for it, it was definitely a fair deal.

“Great, you’re welcome to stay in the office, there’s AC in there as well which helps, since the garage can get pretty hot around midday,” Earl warned and Jovie nodded, parking herself in the office chair and staring at the huge calendar on the wall.

Three days, she’d be out of here by the end of the day on Friday. She just had to hold out and lay low. She could do it, couldn’t she?

She thought back to last night, the way she’d given over to that rudimentary urge inside her, the caged animal she’d tried to let go of so long ago. Jovie had come out to play, and it had felt fucking good.

Maybe there was more of that to be had while she was here. She could stop by the Duck Tape for dinner and another drink, and maybe the years would fall away again the way they had last night.

And if it didn’t work out, if everything finally caught up with her… well she’d worry about that when it happened.

The rest of the day passed without incident, most people were more interested to know why she was the one taking their calls. She got a whole lot of “where’s Marianne at?” and “Are you new?” but she fielded those as best as she could, keeping her answers vague and reminding them that they called for a reason.

It occurred to her that Earl hadn’t even bothered to ask for her name. Maybe this would work out just fine.

Five o’clock rolled around, Bobby and Earl washing their hands at the sink near the door. Black grease and oil dripped down the drain, the scent of the industrial-strength soap they used was bright and sweet, like oranges. 

Earl gave her a quick thank you, told her to be in at nine the next morning, and then rumbled away in his truck again. Bobby left on foot, further confirming her theory that his car must have been one of the ones parked outside the bar last night.

She made her way back to the hotel, booking herself in through Friday morning’s check out. The shower stung her skin but the feel of hot water felt better than she had words to describe.

She scrubbed some of her clothes while she washed herself, watching suds disappear in a swirl down the drain. It would be so nice to have clean clothes again.

They wouldn’t be dry in time, so she settled on her last pair of underwear: leopard print, but at least they were cotton and comfortable despite their appearance.

Her clothing choices were just as limited for the time being, so she settled on a pair of jeans. They weren’t the cleanest but they'd be good for one more wear until they needed to be washed. Last on the pile of clothes was another band shirt.

She hadn’t worn it in years, but she could still remember the press of hot bodies, pulsing music and sweat in the air at the stadium. It had been some “super-band” made up of aging members from legendary bands, well past their prime. She’d gotten this shirt because she knew Slash was going to be on lead guitar, and for those few hours at the concert she disappeared into her favorite songs. 

So, Guns ‘n Roses for tonight. Friday after shift she’d go back to adult Jovie, Jovie that blended in and disappeared into the next town. The Jovie no one noticed.

For the next two nights she’d be the old Jovie, the one who laughed too loud and danced too long, and greeted the night like an old friend.

She set out toward the Duck Tape, walking the two miles from Madison into Danville, intent on her mission. The cool night air kissed her skin, teased the curls of her hair and carried a feeling of possibility for the first time in ages.


End file.
